


Water

by Flippedeclipse



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Erik is a Sweetheart, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love, Playful Erik, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, and a sex god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flippedeclipse/pseuds/Flippedeclipse
Summary: Christine has had a difficult day. Erik spoils his little dove silly.Unrepentant PWP.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 23
Kudos: 151





	Water

Christine’s body ached, her skin covered in thin grime from the day’s exertions. The premiere of Don Carlos was in six weeks’ time; the performance was nowhere near coherent yet, and Monsieur Reyer seemed to have decided that the best course of action was to exhaust everyone into submission. Between Piangi repeatedly stomping on her feet throughout the entire duet of Act One, Carlotta’s never-ending snide comments on how _she_ should have been Elisabeth, and then Christine’s own flubs of her aria in Act Four during the afternoon, she was completely and utterly drained. She sincerely hoped that Erik hadn’t seen a minute of today’s circus.

The damp corridors of the catacomb stairwells did nothing to help her disposition. Not for the first time, she lamented that Erik still insisted on living down here - his home he managed to keep comfortable of course, but the journey there was not so. Yet she trudged on, the promise of warm tea and his quiet affections her only driving force.

She didn’t bother to knock when she arrived. They were well past that.

“Erik!” she called out, dropping her cloak near the door and leaning against the wall to start unlacing her ballet flats. There was no answer, but the lilt of a piano reached her ears, and she sighed happily at the sound. Her sigh turned into a moan of pleasure as her newly-bare toes sunk into the plush Turkish rugs he haphazardly had covered most of his living quarters in.

When she turned the corner, she paused at the sight. Erik was at his piano, quill bouncing between the knuckles of one hand while the other danced over the keys, repeating a melody that he would alter just slightly each time. She would have gladly watched him from the doorway all evening, had he not been the ever-perfectionist. Tea steamed from a teapot placed in front of her favourite chaise, arranged with her spoon of honey and a dainty little milk pot.

A flick of his head gave away that he knew she was there, but he didn’t pull away from his work. She silently padded to the chaise and let herself sink into the gloriously soft pillows, which he had arranged exactly as she liked. Not for the first time, she wondered if his wonders would ever cease.

She made her tea and sipped, and a sound of pleasure left her throat at the warmth it brought, chasing away the discomfort she felt from her day. She could have sworn she caught a smile ghost across the uncovered side of his face, even though neither of his hands stopped the tasks they were caught up in. She leaned her head against the back of the chaise and let her eyes close, enjoying the quiet moment in excellent company.

The piece he was composing seemed to be taking up more effort than usual from him. The melody itself was seductive, thrumming through bursts, then breathing through the slows, but it did not come to him as naturally as most of his pieces. He would hit walls, it seemed, which took a great deal of experimentation before he would find the string of notes he was looking for.

When she finished her tea, she leaned her head back on the edge of the chaise, letting her muscles relax for the first time all day. She nearly must have fallen asleep, as she didn't notice when the music stopped. Only when she felt fingers lacing through her hair did she rouse.

“You look beautiful today, my dove,” He said, hands trailing deeper into her hair. She leaned back into his touch.

“You flatter,” she replied. She looked up into his startling, golden eyes. “Did you watch today’s rehearsal?”

His mouth twitched in amusement. “Parts. Very entertaining, wasn’t it?”

“For you, I’m sure.” She cocked her head slightly, which probably looked quite silly from his angle. “And Act Four?”

“A conversation for tomorrow, perhaps.” 

She sighed. “We may as well get it over with now.”

His fingers untwined from her hair at that, and she immediately missed them. They traced over the length of her neck for a moment, and she looked up at him. “No, my dove, not after the dreadful day you’ve had. Now, lay down for me.”

He walked around the chaise to sit at the end, then gently took her right foot into his lap. She tried to pull away at the touch.

“They’re not clean.”

“Hush.” He fixed her with that look that both chided and comforted, and she acquiesced.

Then his fingers were pressing into all the knotted muscles, and she very nearly moaned at how extraordinary it felt. She sunk into the cushions. “You spoil me, Erik.”

A low laugh left him, the timbre so lovely in her ears. “I delight in your every delight, my dear.” His hand traced up her leg, then down back to her ankle.

She hummed, the melody of his composition now caught in her head. “What’s this piece you’re working on?”

“Something that’s become quite the fly in my ear and demands my attention, though there are a great many other things I've left unfinished because of it.” He pressed a kiss to her knee, his grip tight so she couldn’t flinch away. 

She smiled, despite his insistence to touch all the ugly parts of her today. “And where did this fly come from?”

For an instant heat flashed behind his eyes, and she knew exactly where it had come from. She very much looked forward to hearing him say it. “From you, my dove.” His fingers trailed the length of her calf. “It’s quite inconvenient, these interruptions of late.”

She raised her eyebrows coyly. “Are they unwelcome?”

His hands dipped under her skirts to touch her leg through her stocking, and her breath hitched at the contact. “Never unwelcome. But you already know that.” Then he pulled his hand away, instead rising to his feet and lifting her into his arms, at which she very nearly squealed. “Now, let’s get you to the bath, shall we?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I must reek, clearly.”

He huffed a laugh. “You could never smell anything but heavenly, Christine. But every part of you is exhausted, and I'm keen to spoil you a little more.” He set her down on their bed gently, pressing a kiss to her cheekbone. “Wait here. I’ll go heat the bath.”

“Shall I undress?”

He cupped her chin. “Absolutely not, my dove. That is a pleasure I plan on taking for myself.” She hummed, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Hurry back, then.”

He stepped away with a glint in his eye and left the room. She lay back down against the bed. Sleep clawed against her, and for a moment she wondered if Erik would consider skipping the bath and instead just curl up with her for a nap. Her mind drifted as she waited for him to come back, dipping in and out of consciousness.

She was pulled out of her reverie when she felt his fingers trailing up her arm. When had he come in? She sighed and turned onto her side. “Shall we just stay here, Erik?” she murmured into the sheets. She felt the bed dip as his weight shifted behind her, though she noticed a distinct lack of his body against hers.

He pressed a kiss against her neck, the cold porcelain of his mask biting against her skin. “I hate to deny you, my love,” he said, while his fingers worked at the hooks of her dress, “but the bath is set, and I intend to keep my promise.” Her clothing parted under his efforts, and he pushed it as low over her shoulder as he could manage, considering her current position. Then she felt the ties of her corset undo, her lungs filling with air at each tug and release. His practiced hands undid the hooks and loops and ties of her layers as she pressed herself further into the sheets below her.

“Erik,” she breathed, for no other reason than the pleasure of his name on her tongue. He hummed in response.

“Come, darling.” He wrapped his arms around her then lifted her to her feet, though she was most unwilling to leave the embrace of their bed.

Upon standing her up, her dress and petticoats fell to the ground in one fell swoop, leaving just her open corset clinging to her skin. He gently peeled it off her, leaving her just in her stockings and chemise. She didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on the curves of her breasts under her chemise, the fabric clinging to her skin. “Exquisite,” he whispered under his breath. A blush crept up her cheeks.

She reached up and removed his mask gently, leaning up to kiss him before he could flinch. “No need for this,” she mumbled against his mouth, and she was grateful to see that he did not tense. 

He took his mask from her hands and placed it on the dresser behind him, before sweeping her into his arms. She giggled this time when he swept her off her feet, eyes heavy with sleep as she leaned into his body. "I'm so tired, love," she mumbled into the fabric of his coat. He was moving, but her eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment she let herself drift away.

She was startled awake at the shock of warm water against her skin. When she came fully to her senses, she found herself submerged in the tub, still in her chemise. She looked up at Erik, who had a playful smile tugging at his mouth.

“I’m sorry to wake you like this, my dove.” His eyes pieced into her, warm and doting, toying with her soul. He knelt by her head, gently lifting her hair over the edge of the tub, then guided her to lean her head back over the porcelain edge. She let her eyes close again as those beautiful, musician’s fingers trailed down her neck, stopping where her skin submerged under the water.

“Oh, Christine….” Her name was a prayer on his lips. He trailed his hand over her thigh under the water, before he wrapped his fingers around her ankle and lifted her leg out of the water. She sucked in a breath as the cold air hit her skin, causing gooseflesh to ripple over it. His free hand lifted the edge of her stocking and rolled it down the length of her legs. He pulled the wet fabric off, then placed a kiss upon her ankle.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his eyes devouring each inch of her body under the water, eyes darkening as he gently set her leg down in the water again. Her thighs squeezed together of their own accord, a movement he didn't miss. “Already, my dove? We’ve barely begun.”

She thrummed her vocal chords at that, before dropping her head even further over the edge of the tub. His hands reached for her other ankle, and soon it was subject to the same ministrations as the first. He placed a kiss upon the arch of her foot this time, fingers right upon her ankle so she couldn't flinch away, before placing it back down into the warmth of the water.

“Erik…” she trailed off, caught between the hold of sleep and the ache starting to press between her legs.

“A moment, my dove.” A smile lilted across her face when his lips touched her forehead. "Keep your eyes closed for me, won't you?”

She was obedient. A clinking sound reached her ears, the rustle of fabric, then metal against the marble of the floors. Then her shoulders were being lifted by his hands and he shifted her, slipping in behind and under. She reached for him and delighted in the feel of his bare skin under her fingertips. She pressed wholly against his naked form, nuzzling into the crux of his neck. A gentle laugh left him and vibrated through her entire being.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered into her ear, trailing his hands down her sides. His thumbs rubbed delightful circles into her lower back, coaxing the over-tight muscles into submission. He followed the length of her until he reached the hem of her chemise, which had drifted up to her knees, and began to gently tug it up her body. His hands explored every inch of naked skin he uncovered.

He lifted her hips slightly to pull her chemise over them, and she heard his breath hitch at the sight of her naked between her thighs. “How risqué, my dove,” he breathed into her ear, before biting into the skin right underneath.

She bit her lip. “You were on my mind when I dressed this morning.”

A soft groan left him, rumbling through his chest and into hers. “Is that so?” He murmured into her skin, biting again. His hands pressed into the junction where her inner thighs met her core, and she took great pleasure in his hardness growing against her.

Her legs floated apart invitingly of their own accord, but he did not acquiesce, instead keeping his attention on her chemise. A soft whine left her throat.

“So impatient,” he teased.

“I thought you hated denying me,” she replied, leaning back into his angular body. They fit perfectly against each other, for he was sharp in all the places that she was soft.

“I do.” He punctuated his words with teeth grazing lightly across her shoulder. She shivered. “Patience, my dove.”

She sighed, before arching her back and pressing into him. She preened and ground her hips, reminding him that the cards were not all his. A moan left his lips, his fingers digging in just below her ribs, but he did not relent. 

He bunched her chemise in his hands, fingers brushing the bottom curve of her breasts, and her nipples hardened at the sensation. “Erik,” she very nearly begged, burying her nose in the curve of his neck, her body writhing of its own accord.

He hummed, brushing her nipple, then pinching. “Yes, my dear?”

“Please.” She felt the twitch of his cock against her back.

“Please what?” His voice was a low rumble, and it throbbed through her body. 

“Touch me, Erik.” His mouth ghosted along her cheekbone, pressing a smile into her skin. His only response was another delicate flick of her nipple. She arched into him, at which he clucked his tongue.

“So eager..." His thumb played with the hardening flesh of her nipple again, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “My temptress.”

And then his hands left her breasts, and she whined again low in her throat, paying little regard to how wanton she sounded. His hands splayed against the sides of her chest, pulling her arms up as the dripping wet fabric of her chemise lifted out of the water and over her head. Water dripped onto her and wound paths over her skin. His mouth chased a droplet, his lips capturing it before it fell from her chin. He dropped the soaked piece of cloth over the edge, and it hit the tiles with a wet squelch. She leaned her head back into his shoulder and pressed into him, clamouring to feel every inch of him against her.

“Christine,” he said, long fingers trailing down her jaw. “How beautiful you are.” Her legs crossed and squeezed.

“Touch me, Erik,” came her demand again.

"Is that what you want?"

She answered by grinding herself into him, water splashing over the edge as she rocked backwards.

He inhaled sharply and buried his nose in her hair, then exhaled shakily and traced his tongue over the edge of her ear. “As you wish, my dove.”

And then his hands suddenly gripped her thighs in a vice grip, wrenching them apart. A breathless gasp left her. Her feet hooked over the edge, leaving her spread wide and open for him. A blush rose to her cheeks at the sheer vulgarity of it.

“Is this what you desire, Christine?” he said huskily, biting down on her earlobe. His hands traced down her inner thigh, pinching at the flesh. She couldn't help but press into his touch.

“Erik,” she pleaded, eyelashes quivering.

“Answer me.”

She felt the walls of her cunt clench. “Yes,” she breathed, water lapping against her thighs, the cool air wrapping around her exposed skin. “Yes, Erik.” 

His hands were at the apex of her thighs then, grabbing both and pulling her folds apart. Water flooded her, seeping inside as he forced her open. The breath in her throat caught and held. He let her languish like that for an inordinate amount of time, a smirk flitting across his face as she squirmed against him. “Please,” she begged again.

Then his fingers were upon her, finding her clit in seconds and rubbing a breakneck pace into her. She cried out, her muscles constricting at the sudden assault and her body arched away from him. With a growl he wrapped one hand around her waist and pulled her back flush against him, grinding his hips against her, his other hand never relenting it’s pace.

His fingers moved from her bundle of nerves to her cunt seamlessly, and without warning he plunged three fingers into her. She hissed in pleasure as he stretched her open, and before she could get her bearings he had resumed his rapid pace with the thrusts of his fingers. The water made the movements within her chafe, and her blood sang with every sharp sting.

His palm brushed against her clit with every motion, making her tighten around his fingers. His mouth bit into her shoulder so hard she was sure it would draw blood, or at least bruise viciously in the morning. Water sloshed onto the tiles below the tub, and Christine was utterly lost to the sensations that assaulted her, only slightly cognizant of the way his cock pressed in behind her urgently. His hand, the one not buried inside her cunt, was the only thing holding her stable as her body became boneless. The tension in her core increased, bringing her closer, closer, ever closer. 

And when she finally dangled on the edge of the precipice, every nerve in her body alive and singing, he stopped.

Christine’s eyes flew open as his fingers pulled out. “Erik?” she asked indignantly, whirling on him. His lips part, taking in the sight of her, and then he grinned. He _grinned._

“Yes, love?” he asked, a false steadiness in his voice. She brought herself to her knees between his legs and gripped either side of his face between her palms. She glared at him, then kissed him so hard that a groan left his lips.

“Erik,” she repeated, her voice low. “Take me. Now.”

His beautiful eyes lit up, a dangerous glint passing through them. Before she could even blink, his hands wound through her hair and crushed her mouth to his. His fingers twisted and pulled her hair, sending bolts of delight to course through her body. Then they were a mess of tangled limbs and wet skin as they rose out of the water, managing to steady themselves on their feet without parting their mouths from one another. Erik pulled her legs up off the ground and she wound them around his hips, drawing a carnal sound from him as she pressed her dripping breasts against his chest.

They clung together and he moved them as one, until her back was pushed against the cold plaster wall of the room. Then he was bucking against her, his cock sliding deliciously between her soaked folds. “Still so wet,” he sighed into her neck. “You are a goddess, Christine.” She answered with urgent kisses pressed against his jaw, culminating with a hard bite along his windpipe.

The tip of him pressed into her entrance, and she let out a shameless moan. “Please,” she begged, and he answered with just the slightest shift of his hips, causing him to dip deeper into her. She scratched welts along his back, desperate for more.

He paused then, and was surprisingly gentle when he nuzzled his nose into her neck, lips tracing over her collarbone. “You are mine, Christine, and mine alone.”

“I am yours, Erik,” she breathed. “And you are mine.”

Then his hands dug into the flesh of her rump, and slowly, agonizingly, he lowered her onto him. Moans of pleasure echoed between them. He thrust in slowly once, then pulled out his entire length. He held her eyes, neither of them daring to look away, as he pushed into her again, to the hilt, in one fluid motion. His languid pace left Christine aching inside. Each time he pulled away, and each time he slammed her back down onto him, drawing staccato sighs from her.

“Erik,” she whispered, and he shuddered beneath her.

“My little dove,” he replied, his voice so sweet in her ears, and then he was lifting and lifting her, until just the tip of his cock was still inside her. He held her there, their eyes meeting. "I love you, Christine," he murmured in the air between them. Before she could even open her mouth to respond, he speared her on his cock, reaching the deepest, most hidden parts of her, and a cry of pleasure left her lungs.

His pace increased, then raced. They clamoured over each other in wild abandon, pulling and pushing, pressing and rocking, kissing and biting. She declared her love for him over and over until she became incoherent.

"My Christine,” he gritted through his teeth, sweat running down his neck but his pace never relenting. Stars clouded her vision as she climbed ever higher, her back pressing into the cool wall as her hands scrambled for purchase.

Then his arms wrapped around her and they were moving again. Her world spun for a moment, before a delightful chill hit her spine. He didn't stop moving inside her, but cradled her gently as he brought her body to rest against the cold, still-wet tile of the floor. When she looked up, his eyes burned like the low light of a candle, and her lips parted at the sight.

“My love,” she whispered, something delightful coiling with the lust in the pit of her stomach. He brushed his fingers against her cheek dotingly, his movements slowing just for a moment. She cupped his face in her hands and brought his mouth to her own, their tongues brushing against each other in a heady, slow duet. He moaned against her mouth, and her walls clenched around him by way of response.

Another groan left him, this one more needy than the last, and without warning his pace skyrocketed, leaving her reeling. He was fucking her, _fucking_ her, so hard that she couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t feel anything but his cock sliding in and out of her as his hand reached between them to frantically rub at her pink, swollen nub. “Christine,” he growled, almost animalistic. “Look at me.”

But she couldn’t. She was lost in how raw she felt, how she was pawing and grasping at him with no conscious thought, lost in the feeling of his exquisite, swollen lips against hers. The cold water against her back contrasted magnificently with the heat they made together. Her muscles tightened, and her eyes squeezed shut as the edge came into view, closer, ever closer-

“Christine,” he repeated, his voice commanding. “ _Look at me_.” Her eyes snapped open, ever his obedient Christine, meeting his beautiful golden eyes with her own. Her eyes threatened to roll back almost immediately, but she daren't look away.

He pinned her gaze with his own, ripping open her soul as his pace increased ever further. She met him blow for blow with her own hips. She was lost, utterly lost in the throes of their shared pleasure. The only thing that existed were his fingers between her legs, his cock sliding in and out of her, his beautiful face above her. She couldn’t blink, she couldn’t breathe, everything _burned._

And he, ever able to read her, knew where she was. “Not until I say so,” he whispered, so low she almost didn’t hear it. Something in his voice trembled, and she bucked wildly against him, drawing out a groan. The sound sent a shiver that rippled through every nerve in her body.

“Erik,” she managed to choke out, and she couldn’t stop her eyes squeezing shut.

“Hold, my dove.” His fingers pinched her clit, and she very nearly screamed.

“Please,” she begged, almost broken. “Please.”

His free hand wrapped into her hair and wrenched her eyes to his. “Wait,” he ordered, his voice booming through her, their inferno burning bright.

Her breathing stopped. Every muscle in her body seized as she dangled over the edge. He is fucking her so hard, _so hard_ , she can’t, she can’t, she _can't_ -

“Please, Erik!” she nearly sobbed.

His breath caught in his throat. He looked down at her, and in this moment she knew the breadth of his love for her. “Sing, my dove," he whispered hoarsely, and then, louder, vibrating through every fiber of her being. " _Sing_.”

And so she did. She falls, falls, flies. Her body arched off the floor, and all she could comprehend was _him._ Something keened in her ears, and she was distantly aware that he was still thrusting into her, though he shuddered and shook with each one. Her heart raced in her ears, her pulse was all she could hear. And then, the blissful void.

Eternity feels like it has passed when she finally returns to earth. Her lungs burned and she gasped in air, her body going limp. Her eyelids managed to open and she became conscious of his weight heavy against her, his face buried into her neck. He was still inside her, but completely still. She felt liquid drip from her thighs, and despite herself, she squeezed her walls around him again as a pang of arousal ran through her. He groaned into her neck.

“My goddess,” he whispered. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “My angel.” He rose slightly and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“You’ve had a long day, love,” he murmured, pushing a strand of damp hair out of her face. “Let’s get you to bed.” He moved to pull out of her, but she grasped at him tightly, her eyes making her silent plea. Something warmed in his eyes and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t deserve you, little dove.”

She shushed him with a brush of her lips against his. “I am yours in every way.” He kissed down to her breasts, his tongue flicking against her nipple lazily, making her hum in pleasure. Sparks still flew between them, even now. "Will you ever tire of me?" She wondered out loud, as she watched his gentle exploration of her exhausted body. It was a self-indulgent question, one that she knew the answer to, but she desired his every gift.

"Not even in one hundred lifetimes could I tire of you, Christine," he said most seriously, though she was certain he read through her ploy. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, and she beamed at him, one hand tracing the ravaged side of his face.

When finally his limp cock slipped out of her, drained, she sighed at the loss. After a moment, he stood. “Come, my dove.” He hooked his arms under her legs and lifted her. She was grateful for it, because she doubted she could even stand. The result of their coupling lingered between her thighs, dripping out of her, and she reveled in it. 

He tucked her under the covers and folded her hair neatly over her shoulder, just the way she liked it. Always the impeccable study. He slipped in behind her, every inch of his body pressed up against every inch of hers. Always the perfect fit.

Sleep, long denied, tugged at her. “I love you,” she whispered, as she pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“I love you,” he echoed, his face buried against her neck.

She drifted. He hummed a melody in her ear. The rest of his song, she realized, before sleep finally overcame.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Phantom of the Opera for ending eight years of writer's block. Comments most welcome.
> 
> Forgive any inaccuracies.
> 
> Some details/headcanons heavily inspired by wheel_of_fish's "Unsung", so credit due! (It's sublime if you haven't read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899519)


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